


Sessions

by glasses2444



Category: Glee
Genre: Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasses2444/pseuds/glasses2444
Summary: Some people always know what to choose. Some people can never be too sure. Some people just want to be chosen. In other words, Santana goes to therapy.
Relationships: Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 48
Kudos: 49





	1. Session 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in 2024 and will examine Santana’s life in the years after Brittany leaves for MIT. Canon-compliant through 4x22. Much of this story will be told in flashbacks. Thank you for reading, enjoy!

**August 2024 – New York, New York**

“Santana Lopez?” A middle-aged woman called out as she opened the door into the waiting room.

The younger woman looked up from the _People_ she was mindlessly flipping through in the relatively empty room.

“Hi,” the older woman said warmly. “You can come on back now.”

The younger woman uncrossed her legs and stood from her seat on the padded bench to follow the older woman through the door and down the hall, her heels punctuating her steps.

“I’m Dr. Broffman,” the older woman introduced as she opened the door to her office. “Thank you for...” she started, the sound of a phone ringing breaking her train of thought.

“Hey honey,” the younger woman answered the call coming from her cell and stepped into the office.

The doctor walked over to the electric kettle she kept in the corner of the office and poured herself some tea. She turned and raised a mug to the younger woman, silently offering her a drink.

“Honey,” she said, shaking her head at the doctor’s offer. “I can’t talk right now.”

The doctor set the other mug back on the table in the corner and walked over to her leather armchair.

“I’ll be home in about an hour and a half.”

The doctor set her mug on the table next to her chair. She smoothed out the back of her knee length skirt before she sat down. She waited, clutching her mug and gently blowing the tea inside it. She looked up at the younger woman still standing next to the couch intended for her to sit on.

“Yes…uh huh…okay…will do…love you too.” She ended the call. “Sorry. Wife,” she apologized as she side-stepped between the suede couch and the small coffee table in front of it to put down her purse. She placed her cell on the couch beside her as she sat.

The doctor caught a glimpse of the screen that was still illuminated on her client’s phone. “Is that her?” She asked, motioning toward the picture on the screen. “May I?” She leaned forward in her seat to get a better look as her client held out the phone. “She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” her client smirked as she scooted further back into the couch.

“How long have you been married?” The doctor asked, crossing her legs as she leaned back into her chair and set her tea back on the table beside her.

“Four years next month actually."

“Oh! Well, happy early anniversary to you two,” she said genuinely. “How did you meet?”

“At cheer camp,” she chuckled, “if you can believe it.”

* * *

_Summer 2008 – Unincorporated Allen County, Ohio_

_“Okay!” the peppy elder blonde said as she clapped her hands together. “I want you girls to go around the circle, tell us your name, where you’re from, and um, a fun fact about yourself! I’ll go first: I’m Misty,” she said placing her hands on her chest. “your Captain, I grew up in Cincinnati before my dad’s job transferred to Lima, and my boyfriend Matthew and I_ both _got full rides to Ohio State next year!!” The fourteen-year-old girls seated on the ground around her all clapped. “I know, I know! Thanks, girls! Okay, um you, with the neck brace, go!”_

_“Um, I’m Buffy,” she said, shifting her entire torso to turn and wave at the other girls in the group. “I’m from Lima. And this brace is_ totally _temporary. My doctor says I’ll be on the top of pyramids again before I know it!”_

_“Yes totally,” the captain nodded unconvincingly. “Abso-lutely! How about you,” she said pointing to the girl with Down Syndrome. “What’s your name sweetheart?”_

_“It’s Becky, bitch.”_

_“Uh, I’ll go next, I guess,” the black teen offered. “I’m Ashley, I’m from Lima, too, and my little sister Bree is the favorite and everyone knows it.”_

_“I’m Santana Lopez. I’m from Lima Heights,” the young Latina said. “My dad’s a surgeon and I’m_ pretty sure _I’m getting a boob job for my sweet sixteen in a couple years.”_

_“Coach Sylvester has a_ super strict _no plastics policy, girls,” Misty warned. “So, I’d ask for a car or something instead if I were you.”_

_“Hi, my name is Brittany S. Pierce,” the blue-eyed blonde said. “I’m also from Lima. My cat smokes cigarettes.”_

_“Um, I’m Quinn, hi. My first name is Lucy actually,” the third blonde in the group rambled. “But my middle name is Quinn, so I go by Quinn. I’m from Shawnee Township, and I can’t wait to be able to wave your pompoms one day, Misty!”_

_“Wanky, just wan...”_

_“Awesome, girls! Awesome! So Awesome!” the captain interrupted, clapping her hands. “Let’s break here for lunch shakes, then we’ll come back together to talk about high school and boys.” She stood up from the circle and brushed the grass off the back of her skirt. “If you remember_ nothing else _from this camp, remember this: It’s all about the teasing, and not about the pleasing. Okay?”_

_The younger girls looked at each other and nodded._

_“Awesome!” Misty said as the girls got up and started to walk off. “Oh, before you break off, these are your battle buddy assignments: Neckbrace, you’re with Ashley. Becky, you’re with Santana. And Quinn, you’re with Brittany. I want you girls attached at the hip, no exceptions!”_

* * *

**August 2024**

“That sounds like quite the introduction,” the doctor chuckled.

“Yes, yes it was.”

“That was, what, fifteen, sixteen years ago?” the doctor asked. Her client nodded. “Impressive memory!”

“Somethings you just don’t forget.”

* * *

_Summer 2008_

_Quinn stood leaning over the sink in one of the camp’s tiny two-stall bathrooms, scrubbing the dirt from pyramid practice off her hands when the girl from Lima Heights burst into the bathroom and rushed past her into one of the stalls, nearly taking the door off its hinges._

_“Is that the lunch shake or the dinner shake?” She called out over her shoulder._

_“Gross. Neither. I just need a break from my frickin ‘_ battle buddy. _’” Quinn could hear the scare quotes in the girl’s voice from the other side of the stall. “This was the only place I could think of where she hopefully wouldn’t follow me.” The girl raised her voice to compete with her toilet flushing, “It’s only been 24 hours, and I already can’t stand her! The girl is a full_ bitch _.” She adjusted her top as she stepped out of the stall to join the blonde at the sinks._

_“Becky’s not that bad, Santana,” she shook her head laughing. “She’s sweet! I used to go over to her house and help her with schoolwork and makeup and fun things like that in 6th and 7th grade, but not as much last year though, but whatever,” she turned off the faucet, walked to the paper towel dispenser and continued, “I bet she’s nothing like my battle buddy. Brittany’s…something.”_

_“Yeah,” the other girl conceded, turning off the faucet and shaking her hands into the sink. “That stuff about her cat was pretty weird, but she seems kinda nice though, right?”_

_“She makes my head hurt, but I guess so,” Quinn admitted, handing the other girl a paper towel before going back to the mirror to fix her ponytail. “Maybe we should swap? Is that allowed?”_

_“Who cares? Misty’s too busy freaking out over who’s in her boyfriend’s Top 8 to notice, and we haven’t even_ met _Coach Sylvester yet.”_

_“I don’t know, Santana,” she hesitated. “We don’t wanna get in trouble before we even get our uniforms.”_

_“Look,” she said, tossing the paper towel behind Quinn’s back and into the trash. “I saw the look on your face when Misty gave you that bottom bunk.” She looked at the blonde through the mirror as she folded her arms. “How about you just take mine? It’s the top one in the back corner and no doubt the best spot in the cabin. Besides,” she shrugged her shoulders and turned to rest her hip against the sink to face the other girl, “Becky’s safety depends on it.”_

_“I_ do _hate being on the bottom,” Quinn said more to herself than to Santana. She pulled her gaze away from her own reflection in the mirror and pivoted toward the other girl. “Deal.”_

* * *

**August 2024**

“I…honestly wasn’t expecting that,” the doctor said, her thick black hair swinging as she shook her head.

“Me neither!”

They both chuckled politely before settling into a comfortable silence.

“Tell me about yourself, Santana.” She lifted her tea from the table and took a sip.

“Don’t you already know everything about me? I mean, that intake form I filled out was pretty…extensive.”

“Yes, but I want to hear about you from you,” she said, placing her tea back on the table and leaning forward in her chair. “I’ve found that we can learn a lot more about a person in their own words than we can from responses to pages and pages of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions.”

“Okay,” the client conceded. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Wherever you’re comfortable.” She leaned back into her chair.

“Um,” Santana lifted her eyes to the ceiling and shrugged. “I’m gonna need a _little_ more direction, doc.”

“Okay, let’s start with an easy one. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Have you always wanted to be a lawyer?”

“Not exactly, no. I, um, used to sing, quite a bit actually, and I wanted to try to pursue music, but I ended up going in a different direction.”

“What happened to change your direction?”

“It’s a long story and uh,” she glanced at her watch. “We don’t have time to get into it.”

Dr. Broffman pursed her lips and nodded.

“But, um,” Santana continued. “I’ve been a lawyer for about five years now and honestly? I love what I do.”

The doctor smiled her genuine smile, pleased to hear a positive emotion from her client. “What do you love about it?”

“I don’t know, I just love that I get to help people make choices. Someone will come to me with a problem and I’m able to say to them: these are your options, here’s what would happen if you did A, here’s what would happen if you did B. I can lay out the scenarios in ways they haven’t considered, you know? It feels good to know that I’ve studied and prepared for any issue that a client may bring me and that there is in fact a right and wrong answer for a certain scenario, and if I don’t know it right away, I do know where to look for the answers. Legal questions have correct answers. Personal questions, not so much, you know?”

“Hmm. You’re saying there’s an assurance, a confidence, a certainty you have in your profession. A certainty you don’t think you have personally. Am I correct?”

“I _know_ I don’t have it personally.”

“Tell me more?”

Santana laughed. “I don’t think we have time for that either.”

“Noted,” the doctor chuckled. “If you were looking over the choices you’ve made in your life, your personal A’s or B’s if you will, all scenarios and paths considered, are you happy?”

Santana looked down at her lap where her hands were clasped. She untangled her fingers and started playing with her wedding band.

“I am,” she nodded, looking back up at the doctor. “I mean, I, I should be, right? I have a job I love, a wife who loves me, kids who adore me, what’s there to not be happy about, you know?”

Dr. Broffman studied her client and nodded, “Okay.”

The ticking of a clock was the only sound they heard as a silence fell over the office.

“Well, unfortunately,” the doctor said glancing at the clock on the wall above her client’s head. “Our hour is up for this session, but I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you this question before you left here today.”

The younger woman turned her head toward the doctor with her brows furrowed in curiosity.

The doctor slid to the edge of her chair and paused for maybe a beat too long. “Why are you here?”

Santana opened her mouth, but the doctor stopped her before she could speak.

“Don’t answer just yet. Just…think about it. See you next Wednesday?”


	2. Session 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for the reviews and follows! Here’s chapter 2, enjoy!

**August 2024 – New York, New York**

“Welcome back, Santana,” Dr. Broffman greeted the younger woman as she held the door open to her office.

“Hey, doc,” she said as she walked in. She two-stepped in front of the couch and set her purse down on the cushion beside her as she sat. That coffee table really should be pulled out about a foot, someone could trip. “Hey, doc?”

“Call me Deborah, please.”

“Have you thought about pulling this table about a foot toward you? Wouldn’t want anyone to trip and need help on their way to getting help,” she joked.

“Noted. Did you think about that question I asked you last week?” The doctor asked as she walked over and sat in her leather chair.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“You don’t pay me to waste your time.”

“120 bucks an hour, to be exact,” the younger woman noted.

“Precisely. So, let’s get started.” She leaned forward in her chair, grabbed her reading glasses and the folder lying on the coffee table, and opened it. “Before we do, I want to back-track a little by asking this: Is this your first experience with therapy?”

Santana nodded.

“Well, I want to start by saying that this is a very big step, Santana, and I want to commend you for taking it,” she took a deep breath before continuing. “I understand that it’s very difficult to arrive at a place where you realize that you’ve been affected by something, to then acknowledge that the effect is perhaps heavier than you thought, and to ultimately reach out and ask for help unpacking that, that load, if you will. I wanted to say that and to communicate how glad I am that you’ve come here, and that I’m thankful.”

Santana inhaled deeply, exhaling through pursed lips as she nodded again.

“Now,” she said resolutely as she put on her glasses. “Let’s unpack!”

“Where do you want me to start today?”

“Do you want to talk about what brought you in here in the first place?”

“Um, okay, well,” she hesitated, drawing in a deep breath before continuing. “I feel like I’ve been walking around with a, with a, a rope or something tied around my waist,” she stammered, moving her arms around, gesturing toward her torso. “Or maybe it’s more like a harness, but whatever it is, there’s this, this, elephant or rock or hay bale or _something_ attached to it that I have to pull around.”

Dr. Broffman nodded. “A rope and something heavy, go on.”

“I mean, I live my life, and sometimes I don’t even notice that it’s there. Other times it’ll knock me on my ass, but I can get back up, you know?”

“Hmmm,” the doctor nodded again.

“But sometimes? Sometimes that thing gets so heavy that I, that I,” she paused before taking another deep breath. “Can’t breathe. And, and…I…don’t know how much longer I can drag this thing around.”

“What do you mean?” The doctor cocked her head in curiosity.

“I love my wife, and Luca and Lucie are the best things that ever happened to me. And I want to be there for them and be, you know, _better_ for them, but this, this _thing_ , I have to get it under control.”

“Santana, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me,” she said as she lifted her glasses up to rest them over her hair, closed the folder in her lap, and scooted to the edge of her chair. “Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?”

Santana half snorted, half-laughed as she dropped her gaze to her lap and shook her head. “I’d never do that,” she lied. She lifted her head to look at Dr. Broffman. “I’d miss me too much.”

The doctor studied her client. She watched her as she sat with one hand playing with the other on her lap, legs crossed at the knee.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I want to take this moment as an opportunity to tell you that should you ever feel that way, I want you to call me.” She reached behind her and grabbed one of her business cards from her desk. She flipped it over, pulled her glasses back down to her eyes, and scribbled her personal cell phone number down. She leaned forward in her chair and extended her arm toward her client, the card wedged between her index and middle fingers. “Anytime, _day or night_. Okay?”

Santana stared at the doctor’s extended hand before drawing in another deep breath, nodding as she exhaled, leaned forward, and took the card.

“So,” the doctor redirected as she pushed her glasses back up over her head and leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs. “This…weight, if you will, how long have you had it?”

“Oh god, a decade at least.”

“That seems like quite a long time. Research suggests that humans aren’t able to pinpoint the _exact_ moment when we acquired a feeling, but we tend to make associations. We consciously or subconsciously connect emotions and people and events to,” she said, pausing to carefully search for her words. “Try to retroactively determine that a feeling or a moment was important, even – or especially – if we didn’t know it was important at the time.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Santana said, nodding.

“What was going on in your life a decade ago?”

* * *

_April 2014 – Cambridge, Massachusetts_

_“Brittany!” A Nigerian-accent called out from what sounded like down the hall. “Me and the guys are setting up the telescopes on the roof of the chemistry building, you coming?” The person matching the voice said as he appeared in the doorway._

_“I can’t, Rooney, homework,” the blonde said as she got up from her desk chair and walked toward the open door. “Also, those telescopes don’t exist,_ remember _?” she whispered as she shut her dorm room door._

_“Sorry,” she apologized to the Latina in her room as she walked back to her desk and sat in her swivel chair._

_“Someone’s got a crush on you,” Santana snickered as she tapped a key on her laptop to wake it back up, the light from the screen illuminating her face as she lied on her stomach, propped up on her elbows on the other girl’s bed._

_“Who, Rooney? Rooney’s an A-corn,” she dismissed as she shook her head and turned a page in her textbook. Santana snorted out a laugh. “How’s Tina?”_

_“She’s good,” she updated her on her roommate at CUNY. “She seems a lot happier knowing she doesn’t have to sell a kidney or something for tuition since she transferred from Brown, but I_ really _wish she’d throw on some headphones or something when she’s Skyping with Mike. They’re into some_ weird _shit.”_

_“Gross.”_

_“Nasty.”_

_The two girls fell into a busy silence. Page-turning, keyboard-clicking, and a barely audible Taylor Swift song were the only sounds heard in the tiny dorm until Santana sighed loudly._

_“Whatcha thinking about over there?” Brittany asked, not taking her eyes off her textbook._

_“Which economic theories to compare and contrast for my Econ final,” she answered. What are_ you _thinking about over there?”_

_“_ The _…” she started as she stuck her fuzzy-topped pen in the crease of the textbook before shutting it and reading the title aloud._ “Mathematical Theory of Black Holes _, but I was_ also _thinking about when you dumped me.” She swiveled her chair around towards the other girl, lifting her leg and folding it underneath her._

_“That damn song,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”_

_The blonde giggled. “I remember being really sad. Then confused. Then really mad. Then sad again. But then I kinda understood what you were saying,” she said as she shrugged a shoulder. “You know, about us not getting what we need. Because of the distance.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“Well,” she said, pulling her leg from underneath her and bending her knee to hug it to her chest. “Thinking about that made me think about other things too.”_

_“Like?” Santana asked with a brow raised._

_“Like,” Brittany put her foot back on the ground, got up from her chair, and walked over to sit on the bed next to the other girl. “How I miss you.”_

_Santana shut her laptop, set it aside, and lifted up on her hands and knees to change into a sitting position as she scooted to rest against the pillows at the head of the bed, making more room for the blonde._

_“I miss you too, Britt. But I’m_ here _.” She said, looking confused as she held her hands up and gestured around the room._

_“You’re here_ today, _but I know you’re going back to campus tomorrow.”_

_“Yeah, but you’re coming to visit in a couple weeks though, right?”_

_“Yes, but do you see what we’re doing?”_

_Santana cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips as she shook her head._

_Brittany shifted to sit crisscrossed, directly facing the other girl. “This is_ exactly _what we did last year when you went to Louisville. No, we’re not technically dating, but it feels a lot like we are.”_

_“Is that a bad thing?”_

_“I don’t know,” the blonde shrugged. “I just, I feel like nothing’s changed, you know? I still love you but there’s_ still _distance and we’re_ still _young, and we’re_ still not really getting what we need. _”_

_“I’m confused, Britt. What are you saying?”_

_“I love you, Santana. I love our visits and I love our sweet lady kisses, when we get to have them,” she took in a deep breath before continuing. “But I don’t want to live my life waiting for a day here, a weekend there, every few weeks or every few months or so, and you shouldn’t want to either. We should be living life_ every day _.”_

_“I love you too, but are you saying you want me to…stop visiting?”_

_“No! Not at all!” She grabbed Santana’s hands, timidly playing with them. “I guess what I’m saying is...I want our visits, and I want you to have fun at school too. I’m not saying run off and find yourself a girlfriend or best friend or anything like that,” she laughed, looking down at Santana’s hands in her own. “But I_ do _want you to enjoy yourself.”_

_Santana nodded slowly, taking it in. “And what about you? What are you gonna do?”_

_“Honestly? I’m probably just gonna work on me. I mean, with all the stuff I have to do for my scholarship, I think I’m gonna stay pretty busy.”_

_“Well, that’s not fair, you should be enjoying yourself too. Euler bricks ain’t gonna meet all_ your _needs, Britt,” she pointed out, smirking at the other girl._

_“You’d be surprised,” Brittany smiled, still looking down at their hands intertwined in her lap. She looked back up to meet the other girl’s eyes, searching them sheepishly and asked, “Are we okay?”_

_“Come here,” Santana said, tugging on the other girl’s hand still tangled in her own._

_Brittany leaned forward until her lips found lips. She exhaled through her nose as she sank further into the kiss. She opened her mouth as the other girl ran her tongue across her bottom lip. Santana scooted herself further down on the bed as their kiss deepened, turning to face the other girl as they laid on their sides, legs tangling and hands roaming. Without breaking contact, she rolled on top of the blonde, her hands toying with the hem of the other girl’s MIT sweater before slipping underneath it. The blonde let out a deep sigh as her hands roamed up and down the other girl’s back, hooking her legs around her waist._

_“So,” Santana lifted up from Brittany’s lips. “How much do you wanna know about my_ ‘fun’ _?”_

_“How much do_ you _wanna know about Planck’s Constant?”_

_“Got it,” she nodded and leaned back down to recapture the other girl’s lips._

* * *

**August 2024**

“So, you and Brittany decided you two would start seeing other people. Is that correct?” Dr. Broffman asked.

“Not that we _would start_ seeing other people, necessarily. Just that, we _could_ , if we wanted to. And that it wouldn’t stop us from being … us, you know?”

“Ah, I see,” She nodded. “And did you?”

“Did we what?”

“Start seeing other people?”

“I had a few drinks here and there and…clocked some lesbian community service hours, you know, helping some girls experiment,” she shrugged. “But it never meant anything to me.”

“Did she?”

“I’m sure she did, but we never talked about it.”

“And I’m assuming you were able to stay that ‘Us’ that you mentioned.”

“We were, yes,” she nodded. “At least, for a while.”

“I’m confused,” the doctor admitted, uncrossing her legs and shifting to sit on the edge of her chair. “What happened?”

“Well, I kinda always assumed that we’d,” she started before she was interrupted by the alarm on her cell phone. “Shit. Sorry.” She said, silencing the alarm on her phone. “That’ll have to be a story for another day. It’s career day at the twins’ school, and I got volunteered for it,” she said with a small eyeroll. “I’ve gotta cut out a little early.”

Dr. Broffman looked at the clock on the wall and noticed fifteen minutes still remaining for the session. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it when her client kept talking.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get paid for the whole hour,” she smirked. “Same time next week?”


	3. Session 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a long one, but essential. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it!

**September 2024 – New York, New York**

“And then he said I wasn’t a ‘real New Yorker’,” Santana quoted, retelling this story for the hundredth time. “Until I had my first makeover, and I was like, ‘what does that even mean?!’ Like who says…”

“Can I make an observation?” Dr. Broffman raised her hand, interrupting her client.

“You don’t have to ask that every time, doc.”

“We haven’t talked about your parents,” the older woman noted as she lifted her glasses over her hair. “I mean, other than your father’s occupation, I don’t know anything about them.”

“Why do you need to know about my parents?”

“Do I _need_ to know? No,” she answered, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward in her leather chair. “But research – and my personal practice experience – suggests that when a client talks about his or her parents, upbringing, or family life more generally speaking, that talk ultimately leads to better outcomes for the client.”

“That makes sense,” the younger woman nodded. “Um, my dad’s a surgeon, like you said.”

“What’s his name?”

“ _Doctor_ David Lopez.” She answered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t ever leave off the ‘doctor.’”

“What about your mother?” Dr. Broffman asked, chuckling.

“Maribel,” Santana smiled, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“That’s a beautiful name,” the doctor said sincerely. “What does she do?”

“She was a nurse.”

“I imagine there weren’t many sick days at your house growing up.”

“Perfect attendance _every year_ ,” Santana smirked to herself.

“Are they retired?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head, looking back up at the doctor. “They had me pretty young. My dad’s only 56, so he’s still practicing and probably will until he drops dead. It’s his life’s dream apparently.”

“Dedicated,” the older woman nodded. “I can see where you get that from. And your mom?

“She, um,” Santana drew in a deep breath before continuing. “She passed a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Santana.”

“Oh no, no, it’s okay.”

“Is that something you want to talk more about?”

Santana took in another deep breath and looked down at one hand playing with the other in her lap. She shook her head as she exhaled, “No, not yet.”

“I understand,” the doctor nodded. 

The younger woman nodded to herself before looking back up at the doctor. “Ask me another question?”

“Let me see.” The doctor pulled her glasses back down to her eyes. She reached forward to open the folder on the coffee table in front of her. She flipped through her notes. “Hmmm, last week, before you ran off to career day, we were talking about you and Brittany deciding you two could see other people if you wanted while you were at your respective schools,” she read off.

“Oh, yes, I remember.”

“Now,” she started, leaning back into her chair, crossing her legs, and lifting her glasses back over her hair. “I assumed that that arrangement worked out, and I recall you saying that it had, but I think you were going to say more about that before you had to go. Is that right?”

“Mmhm,” Santana nodded.

Dr. Broffman stared at her client with pursed lips, waiting for her to speak.

“Um, yeah, so she said I could do my thing, and I said she could do hers, and that we’d still have our thing together. And we did. I had my fun, and I’m sure she had hers too. And I think it was always sort of understood that once we finished undergrad, we’d get serious again. Be _us_ again, you know?”

The doctor nodded, “You had an agreement of some kind.”

“More of an unspoken understanding,” she clarified. “But that was before we went to Disney World.”

* * *

_June 2016 – Orlando, Florida_

_“If I hear ‘It’s a Small World After All’_ one more time _, I’m gonna kill myself,” the Latina told her friends as they sat on couches and armchairs around a coffee table in the resort lobby. ~~~~_

“It wasn’t that bad, Santana,” Quinn said without turning her head toward the girl seated on the opposite end of the couch.

_“It was the_ creepiest _thing I’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life,” Santana said with her feet propped up on the table in front of her. “I can’t_ wait _to start at Columbia in the fall and figure out how to sue for emotional distress, pain, and suffering. I might be entitled to compensation.”_

_“I don’t know I thought the little American Girl-y doll-people were kinda cute,” Brittany shrugged from her seat in the armchair next to the coffee table._

_“I had_ actual _American Girl dolls when I was little,” the other blonde said. “They’re much creepier at night than that ride was during the day, Santana’s just a bitch baby.”_

_A cell phone ringing cuts through the sound of laughter around the little coffee table._

_“It’s my mom,” Quinn said looking down at her phone as she stood up from the couch. “I should take it upstairs. Mercedes, do you need anything from the room when I come back?”_

_“No thanks, girl, I’m good,” Mercedes answered from her seat between her roommate and Santana, trying to stop herself from laughing._

_The blonde nodded as she picked up the phone and walked away from her friends. “Hey mom,” was all that was heard as she rounded the corner out of the lobby and headed toward the elevators._

_“I for one thought the ride was a beautiful tribute to how diverse the world is and how connected we are,” Rachel added with her hands over her chest as she leaned forward from her seat in the other armchair. “I mean, it_ truly is _a small world after all.”_

_“I’m with Santana,” Tina piped up from where she sat on her boyfriend’s lap on the other couch. “Those things were terrifying. Like, apparently, they have to get their hair cut because the humidity makes it_ grow _or something._ Super _weird.”_

_“Disney’s supposed to be the happiest place on Earth! Y’all have done_ nothing _but complain since we’ve been here!” Mercedes said._

_“‘This wait is_ way too _long’,” Kurt said doing his best Quinn Fabray._

_“‘This food’s_ way too _expensive’,” Mike mocked his girlfriend._

_“‘There are_ way too _many kids here’,” Sam lifted his hands, doing his best Santana impression._

_“That’s cute,” the Latina laughed to herself before looking up at the blonde guy sitting across from her. “Can you do me slapping you?”_

_“Those lines were_ way too _mathematically illogical,” Brittany mocked, not looking up from the phone she was typing on._

_“Brittany, you’re the one who said that,” Tina pointed out._

_“Well, they were,” the blonde shrugged, going back to typing on her phone._

_“Well, as fun as reliving our day is,” Rachel said, getting up from her seat. “I need my vocal rest and beauty sleep.”_

_“Yes, yes, you do,” Santana nodded._

_Rachel ignored her and turned to her roommate. “Kurt, will you be coming up soon?”_

_“I should be up in a little bit,” he answered._

_“Try to be quiet when you do!” His roommate called out as she rounded the corner from the lobby to the elevators._

_“Anyways,” Kurt rolled his eyes and slid to the edge of his seat on the couch. “Guess…who…got…a picture with Prince Eric!!” He said, holding his phone out to show the girls seated on the other side of the table._

_Santana leaned forward in her seat to get a better look at Kurt’s phone when she felt her own buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a text message on the screen._

**_From Britt: Meet me in our room?_ **

_“A wave of tiredness has suddenly come over me,” the Latina announced. “Goodnight!” She got up from the couch, side-stepped between Mercedes and the coffee table, and headed toward the elevators._

_“Me too,” Brittany yawned, stretching out her arms dramatically. She got up from her chair to follow the other girl around the corner._

_Mercedes, Kurt, and Sam looked at each other and shook their heads. “Goodnight!”_

_Brittany rounded the corner to where Santana stood waiting for an elevator to come down to the lobby._

_“Hey,” the blonde said once she caught up to the Latina._

_“Hey,” Santana said back, wrapping her arms around the blonde’s waist as she leaned in to kiss her._

_“San_ tana _!” she pulled back from the kiss. “There could be_ people _on the elevator when it gets here!”_

_“I don’t care_ who’s _on the elevator, we’re on vacation. And I’ve been waiting for this all day.” She leaned in to recapture the blonde’s lips, the other girl smiled into the kiss._

_**ding**_

_“Just can’t wait, can you?” Quinn said, shaking her head, smirking to herself as the elevator doors opened. She kept her head down as she stepped over the threshold._

_“Hi Quinn, bye Quinn.” Santana said, stepping over the threshold into the elevator. She held onto Brittany’s hand as she pressed the close-door button over and over again._

_“Oh!” Quinn put her arm between the closing doors, causing them to reopen. “Me, Kurt, and Mercedes were thinking about going shopping in the morning, you guys wanna come?”_

_“What time?” the Latina asked, now pressing the open-door button._

_“This one place Kurt wants to go to opens at like 9, but we_ have to _get there an hour early apparently,” she rolled her eyes. “But we’re going to malls too. So, like 7:30ish?”_

_“I don’t know, I think I wanna sleep in. You should go though,” Brittany suggested to Santana. “You’re gonna need hot law student clothes.”_

_“True,” she nodded. “I’m down. Um…” she pointed to Quinn’s arm._

_“Sorry.” The other blonde realized she was still holding the door open. “Night guys.”_

_“Night!” The two girls called out from behind the closing doors._

* * *

**September 2024**

“Sorry to interrupt,” Dr. Broffman apologized. “But I just have to say you’re 100% correct about that ride.”

“Thank you!”

“As you were saying.”

“So,” the younger woman continued. “I went shopping the next morning and got back to the resort later that afternoon.”

* * *

_June 2016_

_“Okay mami…yes…okay…I’m just getting back to the room,” Brittany heard Santana say as she dipped her key card into the reader and opened the door._

_“I’ve gotta go. I’ll make sure I send pictures. Tell dad I said ‘hey’ when you see him. Mmhm…love you too…Will do.” She ended her call and dropped her shopping bags on the floor near the closet as she stepped into their room. “My mom says ‘hi.’”_

_“I love your mom,” the blonde said. “Did you find any good stuff?” Brittany motioned to the bags the other girl dropped down._

_“Did I? Columbia won’t know what hit ‘em. Wanna fashion show later? Santana raised her eyebrows suggestively._

_Brittany smiled, “Definitely.”_

_“What’d you do today?” Santana asked the other girl as she bent over to lift the clothes out of the bags. She opened the closet to hang the clothes, its door blocking her view into the bedroom._

_“I went to hang out by the pool with Mike and Tina and Sam earlier and somehow both my wall charger_ and _my portable charger fell in the pool._ Disaster _. Especially since my phone was almost dead and I was waiting for a phone call. So, I came back to the room and went looking in your suitcase to see if you had an extra one, and I found this.” She looked down at the small item in her hands._

_“Found what?” Santana shut the closet door and walked toward the bedroom. She leaned against the door frame and saw the other girl sitting in an armchair in the corner on the other side of the room._

_“Santana, what is this?” Brittany held the item up nervously._

_The other girl walked further into the room to get a better look at the item. She smiled and shook her head when she saw it._

_“Santana.”_

_She walked over to Brittany and sat on the bed across from the armchair._

_“I didn’t want it to happen like this but,” Santana leaned forward and took the box from the other girl’s hands. “I love you, Brittany. You know that already.” She smiled and took in a deep breath. “But you probably didn’t know this. Um,” she took in another breath. “For years, I’ve felt like I’ve been holding my breath, waiting. I held my breath when I told you I loved you in front of those lockers. I held my breath waiting for you to say you loved me back. I held my breath when you held my hand under that napkin at Breadsticks,” she smirked. “I held my breath waiting for my abuela to tell me she accepted me.”_

_Brittany watched the other girl as she drew in another deep breath._

_“Telling you how I felt was hard. Coming out was hard. Breaking up was hard, you know that, too. But do you know what the_ easiest thing _in the world was? Falling back into our thing. But somewhere along the way, what was really easy turned into me holding my breath and waiting again. I held my nose and pretended to like hooking up with those college girls, pretended to have fun, just waiting until we could be together again. Really be together.”_

_Brittany kept watching the other girl as she spoke._

_“And now? Now, I,” she ran her hands up and down the other girl’s thighs. “I feel like I can_ breathe _again. We don’t have to wait anymore, Britt! I love you, and you love me, and we’re_ done _with roommates and dorms, and you can…come to New York, and you can,” she started as she got up from her seat on the edge of the bed and got down on the floor in front of the other girl. She opened the small box as she said, “Marry me?”_

_Brittany’s eyes fell to the ring and to the girl kneeling in front of her. She felt the tears stinging in her eyes as she inhaled deeply. “Santana,” she exhaled through pursed lips, tears falling as she blinked. “I, I can’t go to New York.”_

_“Well, not right away, obviously,” she laughed. “I mean, we’d have to find a place to live. I’m gonna see if there’s an open apartment in Rachel and Kurt’s building. I crashed with Lena Dunham once when I got kicked out for being right about that_ ass _Brody, so I’m sure she can be a reference for something. I mean maybe we could…”_

_“I can’t go to New York because,” she interrupted the other girl. “MIT called and offered me a fellowship…and I,” she drew in another deep breath and tried to flick away the tears that had fallen from her eyes. “I said yes. I was gonna tell you when you got back.” She searched her eyes._

_“Oh! Oh. God, Britt you’re such a fucking genius, come here!” She leaned up on her knees to reach up and run her thumb along the blonde’s cheek as she pulled her in to capture her lips, still holding the open box in her other hand. “Okay, this is good,” she said as they pulled apart. “I like Boston! I’m pretty sure I could leverage my Columbia acceptance to get a spot at a law school somewhere around MIT, or just wait a year and apply somewhere else, or…”_

_“Santana, you can’t come to Boston.”_

_The Latina let out a small laugh and shook her head. “Why not?”_

_“You_ love _New York.”_

_“I love_ you _.”_

_“You can’t move to Boston for me.”_

_“Brittany, I would do_ anything _for you, you know that.”_

_“I know,” she nodded. “I know, and I love you so much, Santana. So much.” She noticed the tears reforming in her eyes, her voice cracking as she continued, “_ So much _…”_

_Santana fell back to sit on her heels. “You’re saying ‘no.’”_

_“No! No!” Brittany said, shaking her head from side to side. More tears fell from her eyes as she slid from her chair to join the other girl on the floor. “Santana, I’m not saying ‘no,’ I’m, I’m saying that I love you!_ I love you! _And I would_ love to _marry you…someday…I just…” Santana shook her head and shifted off of her knees to sit beside the other girl on the floor._

_Santana sat looking at the ring in her hand. “When did you say yes to MIT?”_

_“Today.”_

_Santana shook her head, studying the pattern on the carpet. “Before or after you found the ring?”_

_Brittany looked at her best friend in confusion. “My phone was dying, I went looking for a charger, I found one, and I found the box too, but I didn’t’ open it. Then they called and I got distracted.”_

_“You’re such a fucking genius, Britt,” she huffed out a laugh. “An_ actual _genius, with a degree from MIT. You can write your_ own _ticket. You can go anywhere you want.”_

_“You were the first person to ever call me that. You’ve always been my first and loudest cheerleader. You believed it when no one else did, not even me. And now, the people there believe in me too, and now I get the chance to really,_ really _show them that I can do more, I can show_ myself _that I can do more. We’re on the verge of something so_ huge _I can’t even tell you what it is!”_

_“You_ can _do more, Britt.” She turned to face the other girl. “And I wanna be right beside you when you do it, in Boston, in New York, wherever_ you _are!”_

_“I love you so much, San. But,” she took in another deep breath before continuing. “I don’t want you to hate me for dragging you away from everything you love. And I…I don’t wanna wake up 2 months from now or 2 years from now or 2_ decades _from now and resent you because I decided to give up what I’m working on so we could live in the same city.”_

_Santana shook her head, seeming to find new detail in the carpet pattern. “What about_ us _, Britt?”_

_“Come here.” She turned the other girl’s chin toward her, nearly capturing her lips as the other girl turned her head. “Hey, you’re pulling away.” She leaned in until her lips found the other girl’s._

_“Britt,” Santana said as she pulled away again._

_“You’re gonna go back to New York and you’re gonna love it at Columbia. And you’re gonna be the most badass lawyer the city’s ever seen. And me? I’m gonna finish what I started, and nothing’s gonna change between us because I love_ you _,” she said, kissing her again. “And you love_ me, _” she said before leaning in again. “And…”_

_“Britt…” Santana shook her head._

_“Can we just,” the blonde interrupted with a nervous laugh. “Hop in my time machine and go back to last night when we ditched our friends for sweet lady kisses?”_

_Santana took in a deep breath as she searched back and forth between the other girl’s eyes. She exhaled as she looked down at the ring in her hand, her view clouded by watering eyes. She closed the box. “I…I don’t think we can.”_

* * *

**September 2024**

The doctor took in a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips.

“Yeah.”

“Let me make sure I understand. And forgive me for any oversimplification.” She closed the folder in front of her, sat back in her leather chair and crossed her legs as she lifted her glasses up over her hair. She clasped her hands, her index fingers and thumbs framing her chin in contemplation. “You and Brittany met at cheer camp and started exploring your sexualities in high school, which led to your dating. You graduated and enrolled at the University of Louisville. She got held back. You broke up with her, citing the difficulties of long distance. You dropped out and moved to New York at Brittany’s convincing. It was discovered that she was mathematically gifted, causing her to gain acceptance to MIT. You reconnected at some point and reconfigured your relationship in a more _casual_ way, again at Brittany’s convincing. A casualness you assumed would expire upon graduation. You got into law school in New York, she took a position in Boston. You asked her to marry you, and she…didn’t _quite_ say ‘no,’ right?”

“She didn’t say ‘yes’ either.”

“Mmm,” the doctor hummed. “What was that moment like for you?”

“It was like,” the younger woman paused, searching for the right words. “It was like breathing for the first time.” She took in a deep breath to say, “And then getting the wind knocked out of you. And…” She caught a glimpse at the time on her phone as a text message illuminated the screen. “We’re out of time, aren’t we?”

“Technically,” the doctor said as she looked up at the clock above her client’s head. “But there was a cancellation, so you’re my last client for the day. We can keep talking if you’d like, no extra charge,” she smirked.

“You sure?”

The doctor nodded. “What happened next?”

* * *

_June 2016_

_“How many?” The red-headed hostess asked the group as they walked through the double doors into the crowded restaurant._

_“Uhh nine I think?” Mercedes turned around to count her friends. “Two, four, six, eight, ni…we’re missing somebody.”_

_Kurt turned around to recount, starting with himself and Mercedes, “Two, four, six, eight…where’s Satan?”_

_“She…left. Family emergency,” Brittany lied._

_“Oh my god, I hope everything’s okay!” He said._

_Brittany reached into her pocket to check her phone. “Yeah, me too.”_

* * *

**September 2024**

“You left in the middle of the trip?”

Santana nodded.

“Where’d you go?”

“Home.”

* * *

_June 2016 – Lima, Ohio_

_Santana stepped out of the uber she took from the airport and walked around to the trunk to grab her suitcase. She sighed as she walked up the steps to the front door of her parents’ house. She could hear the dog her mom adopted after she graduated barking as she used her keys to unlock the door._

_“Mami?” She called out as she rolled her suitcase over the threshold. She left it in the hall as she walked toward the warm yellow light in the kitchen._

_“Santana?” Maribel called back, confused._

_The dog met Santana, jumping up her leg before she could reach the kitchen. She crouched down to scratch behind her ears. “ChaCha! You’re a good girl!” She picked up the chihuahua and walked to the kitchen._

_“Mija! What are you doing here?” The older woman said as she put her wine glass down on the counter and got up from her seat at the island to hug her daughter. “You’re supposed to be at the happiest place on Earth! Why didn’t you call and say you were coming? I would’ve cooked! Is everything okay?”_

_“Where’s dad?” She put ChaCha down as she took a seat at the island._

_“Where do you think?”_

_The younger Latina nodded, knowing her father was in an O.R. somewhere._

_“How was your trip? How is everyone? Do you have pictures?” She walked over to the cupboard, grabbed a glass, pouring wine into it before sitting it on the island in front of her daughter._

_“Thanks, ma. Everyone’s fine,” she lied, lifting up from her seat to pull her cell phone out of her back pocket. “Kurt and Rachel are Kurt and Rachel. I’m pretty sure Mercedes and Sam are hooking up again.” She unlocked her phone as she handed it to the older woman so she could swipe through the pictures. “Tina’s still Tina. And um, Brittany, she’s…going back to MIT.”_

_“Did she not graduate_ again _?”_

_“She graduated, but she’s going back for a fellowship, whatever that is,” she let out a deep breath. “She’s working on something ‘_ huge’ _, apparently.”_

_“I’m sorry, mija.”_

_Santana shrugged._

_“You’re working on something huge too! My baby’s gonna be an attorney! Isn’t that right, ChaCha?”_

_“Yeah, I am,” she nodded, smirking to herself._

_“Have you decided what kind of law you want to do?” Maribel asked, taking a sip from her glass._

_“No not yet. I kinda need to decide where I’m gonna live first. I can’t afford to live on my own, but I_ really _don’t wanna go back to that loft.”_

_“Oh, that reminds me,” she said, sitting her wine on the counter. “Judy Fabray called me yesterday. She said she called Quinn and found out she’s taking a job in the city. I don’t remember exactly what she said it was, but maybe you two can look for a place.”_

_Santana shook her head, mid-sip. “Quinn and I can’t live together.” She put her glass on the counter. “We’d kill each other._ How to Get Away with Murder _is an awesome show and all, but I’m_ pretty sure _that’s not a real class they teach in law school.”_

_“Call her, Santana.”_

_“Trust me, mami, it won’t work.”_

_“You’d be surprised how well things can work out when there’s no other option.”_

_Santana looked down at the counter and shook her head. “You don’t understand.”_

_Maribel slid her daughter’s phone across the counter back to her. “Call her.”_

****


	4. Session 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another long one, I hope you enjoy it :)

**September 2024 – New York, New York**

“Hi there,” Dr. Broffman greeted as she held her office door open for her client. “Welcome back.”

“Hey doc.” Santana returned, walking past the other woman to make the familiar two-step between the coffee table and the couch to her seat.

“How are things since we last spoke?” The doctor asked, walking to her desk to grab her tea.

“Pretty good. My wife and I celebrated our anniversary over the weekend.”

“That’s right, I remember you mentioning that it was coming up soon!” she recalled. Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Santana smirked.

“How’d you celebrate?” Dr. Broffman smoothed out the back of her skirt before sitting in her leather chair.

“We got a babysitter and spent the night in a hotel room, drinking wine, ordering room service, and just…talking. It was nice, actually. We, uh,” she hesitated. “ _God_ , we…sound like my _parents_.”

Dr. Broffman choked on her tea at the comparison. “Mmm-mmm,” she cleared her throat, composing herself. “Like your parents?”

“Yeah, I mean…we’re not teenagers anymore, I know, but 31 is still _relatively_ young. I guess I hadn’t realized how long it’d been since we had a chance to get away and just be us, you know? These last few years have been… _insane_ ,” she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “We got married, got pregnant pretty soon after that, the firm assigned me to the team representing one of our biggest clients, her business took off, the twins are _absolute_ _destroyers_ right now, and…now that I think about it, I’m honestly surprised I even have time to come _here_ every week…”

“Santana,” she interrupts. “Breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

She nodded, following the doctor’s instructions.

“Now, I understand those things are sources of stress for you. And while we can _absolutely_ address them piece by piece,” she crossed her legs as she leaned back in her chair. “I think first exploring your feelings about your alone time with your wife may be helpful.”

Santana let out another deep breath as she nodded.

“What was the night like?”

“Well,” Santana smirked. “If you insist, we uh…”

“While intimacy _is_ a good sign _,”_ Dr. Broffman interrupted. “That’s not what I had in mind. I apologize, I should’ve been clearer. What did you and your wife _talk_ about?”

“Oh,” Santana noticed the older woman’s flushed face as she shifted in her seat. “The kids mostly. And how lucky we are to be where we are. And how much we love each other.”

“How did that conversation make you feel?”

“Honestly?” She dropped her eyes to where her hands sat clasped in her lap. “Guilty.”

“Guilty?”

“I mean, she’s right.” She shrugged a shoulder, her eyes still fixated on her hands. “We’re so, _so_ lucky to have the life we do. To have two beautiful children. I’m lucky to be with a woman who is…” she lifted her head, as if the words she was looking for were written on the ceiling. _“Everything I wanted_. And I love her so much, doc. She’s an _amazing_ mom, and she still puts up with _me_. But, after we’d…settled for the night, she fell asleep right away—she’s always been able to do that – but I was still awake, just lying there thinking about…Do you remember that rope-harness situation I told you about a few weeks ago?”

“I do,” she nodded. “Go on.”

“Well, I don’t know how,” she hesitated. “But that night…it…it felt like it got… _tighter_.”

She uncrossed her legs as she leaned forward in her chair. “Tighter?”

“Tighter.”

“What do you think would…loosen it, so to speak?”

“If I knew _that_ , I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hmmm,” the doctor let out a loud breath as she shifted in her seat. She lifted her glasses over her hair as she crossed her legs. Santana watched as her foot bounced where it dangled over her knee.

“Santana, I’m going to ask you a question. And I want to be careful not to,” she paused, “imply… _anything_ …about your character. And I want to be _absolutely_ clear that I _will not_ judge you for anything that you confide to me in here.”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, I know.”

Dr. Broffman uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She watched her client toy with her wedding band. “Are you having an affair?”

Santana let out a small laugh, smirking to herself as she rotated her band. “No.”

“Do you see why I may be inclined to ask that?”

“Not really,” she let out a sigh. “I mean, I’m telling you about how much I love her and how I feel guilty for…”

“That. That’s what it is,” Dr. Broffman pointed to her client, interrupting her. “The guilt. That’s what made me ask. You love your wife and your family and your career, and I believe you! Yet, there’s something in you that you feel guilty about feeling. In our first session together, I asked you about your life choices. Your personal ‘A’s’ and ‘B’s,’ if you recall.”

Santana nodded.

“You said that you were happy. And I accepted that answer at the time, but,” she shifted in her seat. “If I can be candid, as I reflect over our time here, revisiting my session notes, I’m wondering if I asked the wrong question that first day.”

Santana waited for her doctor to continue.

“I…remember an old survey some Cornell economists conducted… _decades_ ago. The survey essentially asked people if they were happy with their choices. The respondents’ answers were overwhelmingly positive. However,” she paused. “When asked to rate on a scale of 1 to 10 how confident they were that their lives would be _worse_ if they had chosen an alternative path, the most popular rating was _2_. In other words, people were happy with the color of their grass, but they were only about 20% confident that their grass was _actually greener_ than whatever was on the other side of their proverbial fence.”

Santana narrowed her eyes.

“I know, ‘why am I telling you this?’” she took the question right out of her client’s mouth. “Well…you knowyour ‘A’ is _good_. I’m not sensing any doubt about that. But,” she shifted again to cross her legs, “I think you’re wondering if your ‘A’ is _actually better_ than your ‘B’ might have been. And I think you feel guilting for wondering. Am I _in_ correct?”

“…,” Santana opened her mouth unsure of how to respond. She let out a deep breath instead, dropping her eyes back down to her hands. “You’re good. I, uh…never thought about it that way.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I…don’t know. I need more time to sit with that.”

Dr. Broffman nodded, “Understandable. While you’re sitting with that, can we follow up on something we talked about in the last session?”   
  


“What is it?”

She uncrossed her legs as she leaned forward to grab the folder on the coffee table in front of her. She opened it and pulled her glasses back down over her eyes. “Let me see…ah, yes. Did you take your mother’s advice? About the living situation? She wanted you to call a friend?”

“Oh yeah…no, I didn’t want to do that. But here’s the thing about Maribel Lopez,” she smiled to herself as she remembered her mother. “It didn’t matter how much I complained or insisted that something wouldn’t work out or worse…turn into a disaster. None of that mattered because…if Maribel Lopez wanted something done,” she shrugged, “you did it.”

* * *

_July 2016 – New York, New York_

_“It goes one-by-one, even two-by-two, everybody on the floor, let me show you how we do!” Quinn panted along with the music playing in her earbuds as she sprinted on her stationary bike in the den._

_“Let’s go, dip it low, then you bring it up slow, wind it up one time, wind it back once more!” She stood up out of the saddle and leaned over the handlebars, trying her best to pedal with Rihanna’s tempo._

_“Come, run, run, run,_ run _! Everybody move,_ run _!”_

_She fell back into the saddle, exhausted after a few more rotations._

_“Who the hell is…,” she said to herself. She pulled her earbuds out, just like the sound of banging on her door pulled her out of her zone. She hopped off the bike and grabbed her water bottle from where it sat in the bike’s holder. She walked through the living room to the kitchen and threw her phone and earbuds on the island countertop, exchanging them for her towel. She wiped her face as she walked down her narrow hall to her door. She stood up on her toes to get a better look through the peephole. She lowered herself and leaned over to check herself in the little mirror hanging on the wall. She tightened her high pony and rolled her eyes as she opened the door._

_“I didn’t buzz you in,” she shook her head. “How’d you get up here?”_

_“Some guy coming out of the building, distracted by all of this,” Santana gestured to her cropped blue dress pants, her more modest black heels, and her crisp white blouse. “He held the door open for me. I walked right in,” she shrugged as she walked through the doorway past Quinn and into the apartment._

_“Come in, Santana,_ please _,” she mumbled to herself. “Um, I know it was a while ago, but I’m_ pretty sure _you said you_ wouldn’t _show up to my place with a U-Haul,”_ _she said as she followed Santana down the narrow hall._

_“I’m only here for orientation…and because my mom threatened to go all Lima Heights on_ me _if I didn’t consider rooming with you,” she explained as she looked at the art hanging on the hallway walls. “So here I am, ‘considering it’,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers. “There’s no_ U-Haul _.”_

_Santana stopped in her tracks as she walked into the kitchen. She took in the detail of the space. She walked around the island, noticing that the colors of the countertops matched the tile backsplash around the stove and sink – a pale green. She noticed the stainless-steel appliances, the real gas stove, the hardwood floors. From the open concept of the kitchen, she could see past the living room and into the den where natural light flooded the room over what looked like an Ikea-staged arrangement of furniture and plants._

_“Holy_ shit _, Quinn,” she said, taking a seat on the grey couch in the living room. She ran her hand over the suede seat as she sat her purse down next to her. “Whether I wanted to stay here or not, I_ definitely _can’t afford half of whatever this place costs. How can_ you _afford this by yourself?_ Ohhhh _,” she nodded to herself. “I get it.” ~~~~_

_“Get what?” Quinn asked._

_“You’ve got some old guy paying your rent in exchange for, I don’t know, pictures of your feet or whatever. Makes sense. Smart, actually,” she leaned back and crossed her legs._

_“That’s disgusting,” she shook her head. “No. According to my mother, Russell always felt guilty about kicking me out when I was pregnant. And apparently, he brags about ‘raising a Yale grad’,” she rolled her eyes, quoting her mother quoting her father. “So, instead of_ actually talking _to his daughter and, you know,_ actually apologizing _, he gave me this apartment. Part guilt. Part gift,” she shrugged._

_“Wait, you_ own _this place?”_

_Quinn shook her head as she pulled out a seat from the island and sat down. “But I will when he dies.”_

_“Ha! Sorry. So, you’ve been given this amazing apartment…and you’ve got it all to yourself. Why in the world would you wanna share it?”_

_Quinn hesitated, taking another drink from her water bottle. “I don’t know, I…figured it might not be the_ worst _idea to have another person around. You know, someone to…have my back. I mean, my mom’s right. When HarperCollins offered me the Assistant to the Assistant Editor position for the young adult division, I took it before I had a chance to think about the logistics. It’s an amazing opportunity, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never lived in the city,” she rambled. “And_ alone? _It…freaks my mom out. She says I could use a friend who’s…‘been around the block’ or whatever.”_

_Santana cocked her head toward the other girl, her brow raised. “You had your mom call my mom because you’re…_ too afraid to live in the city alone?”

_“_ No _. Your mom called my mom because she’s worried Kurt and Rachel won’t take you back in to live on their_ couch. _Did you_ really _go through_ all their stuff?”

_Santana dropped her eyes to the floor as she crossed her arms over her chest. She took in a deep breath as she looked into the den, the sound of an ambulance drawing her eyes to the window. “Let’s say I did want to move in,” she started. “I…honestly cannot afford half of however much this is. Most of the money my parents gave me for school got spent at CUNY, and I used what was left of that to buy some things that_ apparently _can only be returned for ‘store credit.’ All I have now is what I’m borrowing for Columbia.”_

_“Well, my dad pays the mortgage and the taxes. It’s a big write-off for him apparently—something about carrying forward losses or something, I don’t know. And_ I _pay for utilities and wi-fi. We could go half on those things? That’s fair, right?_ If _you wanted to move in, I mean.”_

_“I don’t know…I really don’t wanna be a mooch…”_

_“Oooooh you could do the_ dishes _!”_

_“Absolutely not,” Santana shook her head. “My abuela would disown me twice if she could.”_

_“I don’t want a_ maid _, Santana. It’s just that the dishwasher gets used so often that it is the utility bill. The Roomba takes care of the floor. I’ll clean my room, obviously. You’d clean yours. We’ll share the bathroom responsibilities. I’ll take care of the kitchen counters and whatever else. You could sometimes do the dishes…which would basically cut the utilities in_ half _. Think of it as us…helping each other out.”_

_Santana walked around the island where Quinn sat. She ran her hands along the countertops as she gave the kitchen another walkthrough. She stopped to look out the window above the sink. “Can I use the Peloton?”_

_“We can_ talk _about it.”_

_“You’ve always been able to play hardball, Q,” she said as she turned around and extended her hand toward her new roommate. “Deal.”_

* * *

**September 2024**

“Quinn sounds like quite the friend for taking you in. And that apartment sounds _gorgeous,”_ Dr. Broffman added.

“Oh, it was _absurd_ how beautiful it was,” Santana leaned forward on the couch for emphasis. “But like she said,” she shrugged, “We helped each other out.”

“How so?”

“Let me put it this way,” she paused. “I don’t think either one of us could’ve imagined what we were signing up for. We tried to stay out of each other’s way at first, but…uh, when two people live together – especially two people who’ve known each other since they were _preteens_ – eventually someone gets into someone else’s business, and…let me tell you: once you decide to get into someone’s business, you’d better be ready for _whatever_ you find.”

* * *

_October 2016_

_“We need to have a talk,” Quinn said as she leaned against her roommate’s doorframe._

_Santana sighed, annoyed at the interruption. “Do we_ really _?” She asked, not looking up from her textbook._

_“Yes,” Quinn crossed her arms tightly over her chest._

_“If it’s about your dwindling stash of super jumbo tampons, I already told you: those are for people with_ wide-set _vaginas. You know, people who’ve had babies. I didn’t touch ‘em,” Santana pivoted in her seat to switch her fixation to one of the several open textbooks covering her L-shaped desk._

_Quinn scoffed, “I_ do not _have a_ wide-set _vagina.”_

_“Of course not,” her tone dripped with sarcasm. “If this is about what happened to the dishwasher, I’m invoking my fifth amendment right,” she said as she made highlights in her book._

_“_ What? _” Quinn narrowed her eyes. “What happened to the dishwasher?”_

_“Nevermind. You now have my undivided attention,” Santana dropped her highlighter into the crease of her book and shut it. She swiveled around and crossed her legs as she looked up at the other girl standing in her doorway. “What is it we_ have _to talk about?”_

_Quinn drew in a deep breath. “You need to stop bringing so many skanks to the apartment,” she let out in one breath._

_Santana stared at her. “What? What…skanks? Who are you talking about?”_

_“You know who I’m talking about!” she shouted. “Those…_ girls. _They’re…gross. They’re…skanks.”_

_“Well…” Santana smirked as she took off her glasses and sat them on the desk. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her swivel chair. “If this isn’t the skank calling a skank a skank.”_

_“Believe me, as a_ former _skank,_ I know _. But also – as a former skank turned Yale student and now_ graduate _– I know that these girls…” she shook her head, “they’re just not a good look for you.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“You’re in an_ Ivy _now, Santana. That comes with a certain…esteem. A certain…reputation._ Especially _being in an Ivy law school. Take it from me, you have to be very,_ very _careful about the vibes you give off.”_

_“I am…so confused.”_

_Quinn walked into the room and took a seat at the foot of Santana’s bed. “Do you wanna be known by your classmates or by your future colleagues as the slutty lawyer who has a rolodex full of women on her desk? Who…takes a different escort to the holiday party every year?”_

_“What the hell is a rolodex? Hold on…Quinn…I don’t_ pay _for sex. Wha…”_

_“I’m_ pretty sure _I heard that girl’s Venmo ‘cha-ching’ when she left this morning,” Quinn interrupted with an eye roll._

_“What?! I was paying her back for the Ub…”_

_“Santana,” she interrupted again._

_“It was_ for the UBER!”

_“This isn’t the first time you’ve paid a woman for her company.”_

_Santana’s jaw dropped. Quinn had never seen her so indignant._

_“Elaine?” Quinn prompted._

_“Who the hell is…oh.” Santana shook her head as she remembered her. “Oh no, I didn’t sleep with her. How do you even know about that?”_

_“Tina.”_

_“Dammit, Tina.”_

_“Look, you may not have slept with her, but you_ did _pay her to pose as your girlfriend,” Quinn pointed out. “And you may not be paying for sex_ yet _– part of me thinks that’s mostly because you can’t afford it – but your behavior these last few months suggests to me that…,” she drew in another deep breath, “you might be heading down a path you may not be able to come back from so easily.”_

_“Since when do you care about what ‘path’ I go down?”_

_“I’m not saying_ I care _about your path. All I’m saying is that…Ivy graduates have a responsibility to speak up when they see one of their own wasting their potential. Didn’t they tell you that at orientation?”_

_“_ Wasting my potential _? I’m in here…” she swivels around in her seat, gesturing to her dense textbooks stacked open crease to open crease, loose papers strewn around the desk, “busting my_ ass _…trying to…do something_ useful _with my life._ So what _if I bring a girl home a few nights a week to…unwind?_ So what _if I feel…generous in the morning and decide to cover her Starbucks or her Uber on her way home? You know what?” She swiveled back around to face her roommate. “Not that this is any of your business, but my potential is fine. Also? This conversation is ridiculous,” she said as she lifted herself from her seat and walked out of the bedroom._

_“Okay, maybe ‘potential’ was the wrong word,” Quinn conceded as she got up to follow her roommate down their narrow hall to the kitchen, “But_ obviously _you’re going through something that you_ obviously _don’t know how to deal with.”_

_“And you_ obviously _don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said as she opened the refrigerator door. She reached in to grab one of her lite beers._

_“Santana,” she started, “I know abou…”_

_“What?” She slammed the refrigerator door shut and turned around to face her roommate. Quinn flinched at the sound. “What?” She challenged her._

_She watched as Quinn stood on the other side of the island. Santana leaned against the stove, lowering her beer bottle to the hem of her oversized dark grey Columbia Law tee, screwed the cap off and turned to toss it on the countertop. Quinn flinched at the sound of the metal cap screeching to where it actually landed in the sink._

_“What?” Santana repeated, shrugging her shoulders. “You think that because we’ve lived together for what…three months now…you think you_ know _me? You think you_ know _what I do or don’t know how to deal with? You think…”_

_Quinn scoffed. “I’ve known you since we were fourteen, Santana._ Fourteen _. Believe me,_ I know you _. Probably better than anyone el…”_

_“You don’t know anything about me,” she interrupted._

_“Do I know what it’s like to be a Latina?” Quinn shook her head as she took a step closer to the island. “No. Do I know what it’s like to be gay?” She shook her head again. “Not really. But I do know what it’s like to live with expectations on you. I…know what it’s like to wait for the people who are_ supposed _to love you no matter what_ to actually love you and accept you ** _,”_** _she paused when she saw Santana fix her eyes on the hardwood floors. **“**_ Especially _when you don’t live up to those expectations. I…” she took in a deep breath as she took interest in the floors herself. “I know what it’s like to walk away from a person you love. I…know what it’s like to not be chosen…”_

_“Quinn, I…” Santana exhaled loudly, her head still fixated on the floor. She lifted her head to look at her roommate. She saw her leaning on her elbows on the island countertop. She dropped her eyes back to the floor as she felt the threat of tears. “I…why are you doing this?” She asked, her voice barely audible over the sirens coming from the street._

_“Because!” She shouted. “Sorry,” she brought her voice back down. “Because…I’ve been there. I mean, I’m not saying that, that Beth and Brittany are the same or…that your grandmother and my dad are the same or…that somehow my pain hurt me more than yours is hurting you. I’m not saying_ any _of that. I’m just saying that…” she let out a breath she’d been holding. “I know you’re hurting. I_ know _. But,” she hesitated. “And Santana_ please _don’t take this the wrong way. My therapist told me that…everyone has their pain,” she shrugged. “The pain doesn’t look the same, but it’s there and it’s real. It, it may be dormant sometimes or dull or achy or…_ excruciating _. And there’s nothing that anyone can do to take away_ your _pain. Pain is a personal experience. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have help managing it.”_

_Quinn watched Santana as she stood, still leaning against the stove with her eyes fixated on the ground. She heard her sniff as she pushed up the long sleeves of her oversized shirt. Quinn’s eyes followed the flesh-toned band-aids stacked on the inner side of her right wrist as she lifted her beer to her lips._

_“It_ also _doesn’t mean you get to cause pain for yourself,” Quinn added carefully._

_Santana cocked her head toward her._

_“I know.”_

_She scoffed. “Look Q, I already told you.” She sat her beer on the countertop, pulled her sleeves back down, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I_ accidentally _broke one of_ your _mugs when I was washing_ your _dishes._ That’s _where that cut came from.”_

_“Santana.”_

_“How many times do I have to say I’m_ fine _, I…”_

_Santana watched as Quinn took a deep breath and rounded the island. She watched as she approached her with a look she’d never seen. She felt Quinn wrapped her arms around her neck. “What are you doing?” She tried to free herself from the embrace._

_“Hugging you.” Quinn said, tightening her hold._

_“Quinn, get off.”_

_“No.”_

_“This is ridiculous, I’m…fine. I’m…,” she inhaled deeply. “I’m…”_

_Quinn tightened her hold on her roommate as she felt a growing dampness on her shoulder and a set of arms hug her back. She braced herself as silent sobs shook them. “You’re gonna be okay,” she breathed out. “It’s gonna be okay.”_

* * *

**September 2024**

“I…take back what I said earlier,” Dr. Broffman said as she looked back down at her notes. “She is _definitely_ a good friend.”

Santana drew in a deep breath and nodded.

Dr. Broffman leaned forward in her seat and studied her client. She watched as she dropped her eyes to her hands clasped in her lap. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Santana.”

Santana kept her eyes on her hands.

“What happened next?”

* * *

_October 2016_

_“How’d you know?” Santana asked, the sound of her voice barely audible over the clinking of her spoon in her bowl of butter pecan ice cream._

_Quinn kept her eyes on her own bowl as she spooned out the last bit of rocky road. “I…” she said, shoveling the spoonful into her mouth, “…figured it out when I looked in the cupboard and saw_ every one of my mugs still intact. _” She dropped her spoon into her bowl and twisted in her seat at the island to face her roommate. “You’ve_ got _to stop, Santana. Okay?”_

_Santana watched as the melted ice cream she spooned around fell back into the bowl as she lifted the spoon to her lips. She clenched her jaw and gave a small nod, not turning to look at the other girl._

_“Do we need to…switch to paper plates and cups? If you think you might…_ get clumsy _…again?”_

_Santana drew in a deep breath, lifted her eyes to look straight ahead toward the calendar that hung on the load-bearing column at the end of the island. She shook her head._

_“I think you should…talk to someone. A professional. My therapist, Dr. B, she’s_ amazing _. I can give you her num…”_

_Santana cut her off, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”_

_“You could…talk to_ me _,” Quinn suggested as she got up from the island, taking her bowl to the sink. “I mean, if this conversation accomplished nothing else,” she walked back and reached across the island to take Santana’s bowl, “at least we now know we_ can _have a real conversation – sober—_ without _slapping each other.”_

_Santana drew in another deep breath and shrugged a shoulder._

_“Talk to me,” Quinn leaned forward to rest her arms on the island countertop._

_“What do you want me to say? I…I…had a…lapse in judgment that won’t happen again.”_

_“Okay,” she nodded. “I believe you.” She let out a deep breath as she nodded to herself. “We can talk about something else, if you want. It’s uh…probably not the_ best _subject right now, but I_ have _to ask. What happened with you and Brittany? The last thing I saw was you two making out waiting for the elevator at Disney…”_

_“You’re right,” Santana cut in. “Not a good subject.”_

_“Oookay.” Quinn cleared her throat._

_“Soo…” Quinn cleared her throat and tried again. “There’s_ no _chance of you and Britt working things out?”_

_Santana let out a deep sigh and shook her head. “None that_ I _can see,” she said, standing up from her seat at the island. She walked further into the living room and plopped down on their grey couch._

_“I’m sorry, Santana. And even though I don’t know the whole story, I know how much you mean to each other and I’m really sorry you’re going through this…thing.”_

_Santana nodded to herself and sent a half smile over her shoulder toward her roommate._

_“But!” Santana jumped at Quinn smacking her hands down on the countertop. “I know you didn’t ask, but here’s what I think you should do. I think…it’s time to rip off the band-aid.”_

_“What?” Santana cocked her head._

_“Rip off the band-aid,” she repeated. “The girls you bring home,” Quinn shook her head, “they don’t count. With them, it looks like you’re just…peeling off the edges of the band-aid,_ slooowly _pulling it off, ripping your skin off one cell at a time. You need to rip off the band-aid,” she gave an assured nod._

_“And why don’t they count?” Santana asked, looking up at her as she moved a pillow to sit down on the other end of the couch._

_“Because they’re not real,” she shrugged. “You should be out looking for a real person. Someone_ special. _Someone who expects more from you than just…comping her uber ride home in the morning. Someone you can actually talk to. Someone you can have fun with. Someone who’ll…let you_ bore her to death _when you practice your opening statements for moot court, or whatever it’s called. I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “You can do better.”_

_“And what’s better? Some uptight…repressed…miserable…Stepford-lite? Like you? Yeah right.”_

_Quinn scoffed, “I’m offended. Also, no thanks. How many times do I have to say it?_ That _was a one-time thing.”_

_Santana shook her head and laughed to herself. “You know…for a person who_ insists _that it was just a one-time thing, you_ do _bring it up quite a bit. What’s_ that _about?”_

_Quinn scoffed again and turned to face the front of their living room._

_“Come on, you_ just said _this is proof we can have real conversations, so…let’s do it,” Santana challenged._

_Quinn opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She cleared her throat again. “What’s there to say?” She let out with a shrug. “People hook up at weddings. It’s a cliché for a reason. As far as…frequency is concerned,” she cleared her throat again. “It_ was _a one-time thing. And…”_

_“It might have been a one-_ night _thing,” Santana interrupted, “but it was_ definitely _more than one-time.”_

_Quinn scoffed again._

_“Do you need a cough drop or something?” Santana asked._

_Quinn swallowed and shook her head._

_“No? Then get your throat under control ‘cause I think we need a review of the events.”_

_“Do we_ really _?”_

_“I started the day hating life,” Santana ignored her and continued. “You started the day hating men. Emily Stark met Rosario Cruz at the open bar. Two glasses of wine turned into six – between the two of us. And one time turned into…” she looked down at her hands as she started counting. “You know what? It doesn’t matter at this point. All I know is that ‘these are the facts of the case and they are_ undisputed. _’”_

_“Is there some point you’re trying to make? Also, weaving in quotes from that movie isn’t gonna make it suck any less than it already does.”_

_“ A Few Good Men is one of the _greatest movies of all time _, but you can’t handle the truth,” she shrugged._

_Quinn rolled her eyes at the quote._

_“But seriously, Q,” she redirected. “I’m just checking in.” She shifted to bring her legs up onto the couch. “I know we joke about U-hauls and all that, but I…wanna make sure you’re okay with what happened. I mean, I fell in love with the first girl I ever had sex with. And when that happened, I didn’t know how to deal with it. Now, I’m not saying you’re gonna fall in love with me or anything like that, but,” she paused, “…you’re…_ not _in love with me, right?”_

_Quinn narrowed her eyes at her roommate. “No.”_

_“Good,” Santana nodded. “Look, all I’m saying is that,” she took in a deep breath, “it’s…different, you know? Like, when it doesn’t involve some weird power imbalance or some sort of…coercion…or some…transaction. When it’s just two people doing what…feels good, it’s…nice. At least…it was for me,” she shrugged._

_Quinn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re right,” she nodded to herself. “It was…good. And…yeah, you’re right again. It was different. You know, Puck was my first. And we all know what came of that. And…”_

_“How was Trouty Mouth?” Santana interrupted._

_“We never had sex.”_

_“Hold up.” She straightened herself up on the couch. “Are you saying your only experiences have been me and Puck?”_

_“I slept with Finn,” she added, dropping her eyes to her lap, “…while I was dating Sam.”_

_“So, to clarify, you’ve only had sex with me, Puck and_ Finn _?” Santana smirked to herself. “I’m probably the best sex you’ve had.”_

_Quinn rolled her eyes._

_“Actually,” Santana paused, contemplating. “Since I’ve had sex with everyone_ you’ve _had sex with,” she reasoned, “I_ know _I’m the best.”_

_“Ugh!” Quinn covered her flushed face with her hands. “You are…_ unbelievable _,” she grumbled._

_Santana got up and walked into the kitchen to grab a water bottle. “And_ you ** _,_** _my friend, are_ welcome _,” she smirked as she lifted the bottle to her lips._

_“Now that I’m thinking about it,” Quinn said from her spot on the couch. “That night was probably the most fun I’ve ever had,” she teased._

_Santana choked on her water._

_Quinn smirked to herself, “Who needs the cough drop now?”_

* * *

**September 2024**

“So _that’s_ how you found me,” Dr. Broffman nodded to herself.

Santana nodded as she glanced down at her watch. She let out a deep breath, “You’ve _got to_ cut me off when I go over, doc.”

The doctor looked up at the clock above her client’s head. “The client that has the slot after you cancelled again.” She narrowed her eyes. “Actually, they cancelled…every appointment,” she closed the folder on her lap and set it on the table in front of her. “Excuse me for _just_ a second.” She got up from her seat and walked over to her desk.

“Patricia?” Santana pursed her lips and watched as Dr. Broffman paged her secretary.

_“Yes doctor?”_ Santana heard from the voice coming through the speaker.

“Would you mind following up with my usual 4:30? Oh, and could you please request a wellness check for the address we have on file?”

Santana’s eyes widened at the exchange.

_“Yes ma’am,”_ the voice answered.

“Thank you!” The doctor walked back over to her seat. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

“We were wrapping up,” Santana stood up and smoothed out her skirt. She grabbed her purse and extended her right hand toward the doctor. “Same time next week?”

As she reached up to shake her client’s hand, her eyes caught on to the flesh-toned band-aids on her wrist. She pursed her lips and nodded, “Of course.”


End file.
